


Last Laugh

by MissBeiBauble



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Waller, Blood and Injury, Friendship, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, I Basically Added a Third Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, My First Fanfic, New to the Fandom, Season 2 Episode 4: What Ails You, Spoilers, made all the friendly choices towards John, well the first one i've published
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBeiBauble/pseuds/MissBeiBauble
Summary: An AU where Waller pulls the the trigger faster than Bruce can even think to move.





	1. Chapter 1

“Well then…we’ll no longer be requiring your service.”

John fell onto his back simultaneously with the sound of the shot. The virus dropped with him and rolled away as his hands flew to his chest, hovering over the dark hole there. 

“No!” Bruce shouted, racing to kneel by him, instinctively moving to stop the bleeding with one hand while carefully lifting John’s head with the other. He brushed the man’s shaking hands away from the wound as gently as he could in his hurry to assess the severity of it. John was choking, struggling to regain his breath from the impact. Bruce knew from the sickening gurgling coming from his friend’s throat that it would be a while before John could breathe easily again. He automatically pushed the bustle of movement around him in the back of his mind to better deal with the dire situation.

From the sounds of things, he suspected a sucking chest wound, which was to be more than expected with the meager distance between John and Waller when the shot was fired. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was surprised his friend wasn’t dead already. He would like whatever good luck that had kept John from dying instantly to also save him from dying at all, but that wouldn’t be easy without getting him to a hospital as soon as physically possible. As much as he hated to move him, there was nothing for it. The next minutes would be John’s last if he didn’t get some serious medical attention. It was obvious there would be no help here, despite the overwhelming number of paramedics at the scene; Waller would see to it that she didn’t waste her bullet. As it was, he glanced furtively around to see a couple of agents were getting far too close for comfort, inching towards him with guns drawn and orders to subdue, no doubt.

Bruce wouldn’t be having any of it.

John’s stuttering coughs reminded him to turn him onto his side to avoid having his lung collapse while he was taking care of the agents. Before he could stand, however, a vice-like grip on his arm halted him. Bruce looked down to meet cyan eyes widened with shock.

“W-w-why-” He was rudely interrupted by his own coughing. His lips were beginning to be painted an ugly dark red at this point. Bruce shook his head.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. Hold still. I’m not leaving you.” He wasn’t sure if that was the answer John meant to ask for, but anything else would have to wait until later – much later. He rose to face the agents.

There were only five of them, and with adrenaline coursing through him for the third time that night, dispatching them took just a few minutes. He quickly turned back to get John.

…Who was gone.

Bruce frantically looked about, noticing a commotion further up the bridge. John’s blood trail went in that direction, but unless someone took him, there was just no way he could’ve gotten over there with a bullet in his chest. Bruce began to run, ready to take him back from Waller’s clutches. As he closed in, however, he was incredulous to see that the woman was in John’s, struggling against his arm about her throat as agents aimed at him, shouting. John was holding something against her with his free hand, but it was shaking visibly, and his hands were slick with blood. He began to stagger and Waller nearly broke free, but John was clearly pouring all his steadily diminishing strength into keeping her. Bruce was very aware of what John’s intentions were; he ran faster.

As he neared, an agent came from an angle John was blind to, gun aimed at his friend’s head. John’s unsteady motions brought what Bruce now saw was a knife closer to its mark. Bruce made the decision without an ounce of hesitation and rammed into the agent, knocking him down as he heard Waller grunt with pain. John fell with her, now shaking with laughter that was quickly ravaged with violent bursts of coughing. He curled into himself just as Bruce reached him.

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” he warned as he did just that before moving away from the scene as fast as he dared towards the car, ignoring the orders of the agents to 'freeze' and 'stand down'. 

John whined what sounded like a ‘no’, his face twisted into a grimace. He buried it against Bruce’s chest. After a few seconds, he wheezed painfully, “S-sorry about…the blood.”

The words momentarily brought Bruce back to when, just a little under an hour ago, John had pulled him into a hug that smeared agents' blood on his then-clean shirt. The man was clearly just so happy to have maintained his trust. Bruce had been genuinely caught off guard at the gesture and could barely come up with a coherent response; he wished now he had just taken it for what it was and hugged John back…like the friend he was supposed to be. Now there was a very good chance of never getting the opportunity to do so again, and the idea of that didn’t sit well with Bruce. He mentally shook himself and just decided to keep in the moment for now, for John’s sake.

He looked back a few times to make sure he wasn’t being followed, but the agency seemed preoccupied with helping its director into an ambulance and packing up. The way to the car was clear…save for a lone figure standing just before it. Bruce didn’t slow his stride.

“You can’t stop me, Avesta,” he said in a low tone. “Either help me or move out of the way.” He made eye contact with her. “Please.”

Her stance was stern, but as he got within a few feet, her gaze flickered over the now motionless bloody bundle in his arms. Her face softened a bit.

“Of course I’ll help you,” she sighed. “He didn’t deserve this. Is he…?”

“Not yet,” Bruce nearly growled as she opened the passenger door for him to ease John into the seat. After carefully buckling him in, he ran over to the driver’s side. “Get Waller off our backs, as long as you can. She has the virus, she doesn’t need to finish-”

“Technically, I have the virus,” she said, revealing the vial that caused all this mess from the inside of her jacket. “I was hoping it could follow in the path of Riddler’s blood.”

Bruce rolled the window of the car door down as the engine roared to life. “Sounds good to me, as long as the agency doesn’t come to breathe down my neck about it; at least not for a few days.”

“You got it, Batman,” she said with clear determination before trotting over to where the agency was just about ready to leave, herding a couple of agents that trailed after Bruce and getting them to back down and return with her.

Bruce spun the masked Batmobile around and sped back towards the heart of Gotham, an arm held across John’s torso to keep him steady all the while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting the next chapter nobody asked for of what was supposed to be a one shot! I just couldn't keep away, you guys. Writing this is as good as therapy for my episode 5 feels. Hope it won't be too much of a drag to read. :)

Bruce forced himself to sit back down for the third time that night; he knew his pacing only worried Alfred more. His butler had come as soon as he’d heard the news (as soon as he’d heard Bruce’s tone of voice over the line). He sincerely appreciated the company. On the drive over, he’d considered for a brief moment taking John to the manor and just bringing someone to operate on him there (mostly so he could be present to monitor the whole procedure), but he knew that would take much more time than his friend had left. It once again amazed him that John hadn’t been pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital; he had certainly looked the part.

He’d never thought he’d be so relieved that John had listed him as his emergency contact. That, along with the presence that came with being Bruce Wayne, was enough to override the lack of familial tie between them so that he’d be the first to know everything that was going on. Until the immediate operation was finished, however, he would be left to his churning thoughts.

He decided to focus on just how much danger John was in regarding the Agency’s opinion of him, instead of how familiar the anxiety gnawing at his heart was, or how his hope was warring with his sense of hard realism, and beginning to lose.

Avesta had the virus. Not John. Waller knew this – whether she knew specifically that Avesta was the one who had picked it up or not, she knew it was in the possession of the Agency; that was the whole point of shooting John. That’s all that mattered to her. Whether John lived or died, she had the virus, and that’s all that mattered to her. By that reasoning, John should be safe from Waller. There was no need to worry.

His realism was quick to interject on the matter. Waller now knew who John was and, more importantly, that he was willing to stand up against the Agency. If he didn’t survive this (Bruce just managed to suppress a shudder at the thought), that would be the end of it; but if he did, and she found out… Well, Bruce wouldn’t put it past her to make sure John wouldn’t be given the chance to ever cross her again. Whether that meant detainment or simply another bullet, there was certainly a possibility that John’s life would be in danger even after the current ordeal.

Bruce spent the next few hours going back and forth on the issue and on the floor of the waiting area. He'd taken a few calls from people looking for him, assuring that he was fine and that everything was now under control. In the periods of silence, Alfred made several attempts to get him to talk about anything other than the man on his mind, but he couldn’t help but return to his thoughts after just a few exchanged words. His butler didn’t even try to talk him into returning home for the few remaining hours of the evening. He knew him well enough to know it would be a pointless endeavor.

Bruce just wanted news. As soon as he got that, then he would go home; he recognized the state he was in after everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, and he’d be no help to anyone – especially not John – if he didn’t get some sleep. 

Just as he made himself sit down yet again, a doctor came to beckon him over. Bruce was on his feet and at the doctor’s side in the same second. He schooled his expression into something resembling calm and controlled as he shook the doctor’s extended hand.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m Dr. Marlowe. Before anything else, I’d like to tell you that we’ve managed to extract the bullet, and John is currently in a stable condition,” the man said. Bruce nodded, feeling the tension in his shoulders relax considerably at those words. Nevertheless, he was unsurprised when the doctor continued, “However there were some complications, namely in the form of a traumatic pneumothorax – a collapsed lung – common in gunshot wounds to the chest, especially at such close range, as I’m sure you can imagine. Because of the severity of his injury his heart actually stopped twice, each only for a few seconds, during the operation.”

Bruce continued to nod, carefully shoving the rather forceful emotions that spiked at the doctor’s words to be dealt with later. Alfred was by his side at this point.

“As I said, though, he’s stable now; we’re monitoring his heartrate, although I doubt it should become an issue again now that he’s patched up. There were also a couple of fractures in the fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs, but thankfully there was no substantial organ damage from any stray bone splinters. We had to do a blood transfusion, as he’d lost a considerable amount –” here the doctor glanced down at Bruce’s shirt, which had absorbed the majority of said blood, “– but it looks like his system’s accepted it without a problem, so far.”

“When can he come home?” Bruce couldn’t hold in the question any longer. He didn’t even think of what it implied; what was really home to John, anymore, after all that’d happened? At that moment, Bruce just automatically thought of bringing him back to the manor. It was home to Bruce, so it would be home to John.

The doctor grimaced and Bruce’s shoulders tensed again. “Even with his astounding luck, his health is still in a very precarious position that could decline, rapidly, at any moment. We need to keep him under close watch for at least ten days, make sure his lung reinflates properly.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, letting his eyes close for a moment. He felt the childish urge to ask if his friend could somehow be released early, so he could be the one to watch over him, make sure he recovered with someone familiar by his side at all times, in a place he could feel safe and comfortable in. A nurse could come by and check up on the more technical things and such, as there would only be so much he and Alfred could do, and that way…

He opened his eyes and held out a hand to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Marlowe. I really appreciate all that you and your team are doing for him,” he said. They shook hands.  
“Of course. I’ve a good feeling your friend’s going to recover just fine, Mr. Wayne; he’s got a lot of fight in him.” Bruce suddenly had an image of John forcing himself to stagger over to Waller so he could deliver some dose of revenge before his body completely gave up. He spoke quickly to try and rid his mind of the thought.

“Would it be possible for me to see him now?”

“That should be alright, yes. Just be aware that he's unlikely to be responsive at this time. Follow me.”

Once he’d been directed to John’s room, and the door had slowly swung shut behind him, and he’d mentally prepared himself for what was to come (as much as he was able to, at least), only then did he step over to his friend’s bedside to look at him. As to be expected, John was even paler than usual, as white as the pillow beneath his head. He looked nearly as young as he behaved, yet at the same time too drained to possess that peace that usually settled on the sleeping. The bruise around his eye was in sharp contrast now; it sent a flash of anger through Bruce every time he saw it. 

He let his gaze trail down John’s thin frame, taking in every cord and strip of colored tape that threaded through the hospital gown keeping him from seeing the wound. Better, he thought. If a simple black eye could stir up his more…unpleasant emotions, he was sure seeing John’s injured chest would do the same, or worse. Bruce had tried in the past to rationalize the strange sense of protectiveness that emerged whenever he was around John, but like all instincts, it just seemed to be a part of him. Maybe it was John’s twisted yet childlike innocence, or the painfully obvious way he adored and idolized Bruce that instilled it in him; it made him feel like he could do anything, anything but let John down. Maybe he simply liked John, liked having him at his side, despite all his glaring flaws. It was highly possible those same flaws were what made their stitch so tight.

Something caught his attention then, something on the side of John’s torso. The oversized open sleeves made it easy to see a bit of white bandage just peeking out, which was odd, considering the wound was on his other side; Bruce didn’t see why the bandaging would cover across his chest like that. He’d begun to tug the sleeve lower so he could see more of it when a nurse came in. The tired woman gave him a chastising look.

“Please be careful handling the patient,” she murmured as she quickly went about checking the various equipment connected to John. 

“Why is there dressing here?” Bruce asked her, pointing at the spot in question. She gave it a fleeting glance before answering.

“Oh, Mr. Doe seemed to have been grazed by a bullet there. Looked to have happened not long before his more serious injury, from what we could tell.”

Bruce stared at her. 

“It’s nothing to be concerned over, we cleaned and dressed it as a precaution; grazes rarely lead to long term complications. They may just burn for a few days before healing,” she went on.

He only heard a few words of what she’d said then. His thoughts couldn’t let go of the phrase ‘grazed by a bullet’. Not long before Waller shot him…Bruce found him at the funhouse, surrounded by agents’ corpses. John had said with desperation in his voice that they weren’t supposed to just start shooting.

_They’re supposed to say, ‘hands up!’ I’ve seen it on the TV!_

Of course, the graze wasn’t concrete proof of John’s defense, he quickly told himself. If John had just acted under rage at seeing the agents, like Bruce initially thought when he first walked into the newly redecorated area, the wound could’ve come from an attempt to subdue him. Or it could’ve very well been the first thing the agents did when John appeared, with barely a warning for him to save himself. 

_If I hadn’t fought them off, I’d be the one lying in a pool of blood!_

The irony of it all was not lost on Bruce.

He wondered how he had managed to overlook the graze. Of course, with the intensity of the situation and the rush they were in to reach the bridge before Harley rendered it nonexistent, he couldn’t find it that hard to imagine missing a patch of dark blood on a dark vest among other splatters of red. The more disconcerting question was why hadn’t John pointed it out to him as a part of his effort to prove his innocence. He hadn't even seemed in pain; Bruce would’ve noticed if he had, for certain. 

This was an important development. At the time, Bruce had told John that he’d believed him, and a part of him genuinely did. The larger part of him, however, just wanted Harley put away in time to prevent countless deaths, and if that meant glossing over John’s “flash in the pan” so that they could work together on doing so, then he was ready and willing. Had it been anyone but John, against anyone but the Agency’s people, Bruce wouldn’t have been so quick to let the matter go. Another sign of the unique relationship between them, he knew. He just wished he was able to truly trust John, as much as he claimed he did.

He resolved to have that very serious talk regarding the whole issue once John was in the condition for it. For now…

For now he just wanted his friend to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have severe completion issues, which explains why this was intended to be a one shot. But! This fandom is my current obsession, so there's a good chance I'll see this thing a little further. Many thanks for any comments you can leave, especially if it's to correct my botched medical jargon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some dialogue going between our two favorite boys. :D On a side note, I've finally got the hang of italicizing in HTML format, I feel like a coding genius now, you guys.

It’d been four days before Bruce’s impatience won out and he made the formal request for John to be released early. It took a bit of effort, and more than a little bribery and general schmoozing, but eventually, in the early morning of the fifth day since the incident, John was brought to Wayne Manor for the first time. Bruce wished his friend had been awake enough to really comprehend what he was sure would’ve been an exciting moment for him. He would come around soon enough, though, and then Bruce would give him the grand tour. For the time being it was important that John be situated properly so that he could recover as well as he would in hospital.

He, Alfred, and a team of nurses worked on setting up the guest room across the hall from Bruce’s. He was satisfied with the finished product; a meld of comfort and practicality. Two nurses would be by every day to make sure John’s recovery was going as it should. As they were about to leave, they assured him that John should be waking up within the hour.

Bruce was tempted to take some time off from his work to better watch over his friend, but after everything that had gone down, there was still so much that needed his attention. His night job, however…well, he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Then promptly decided not to use that expression until the word ‘bridge’ didn’t make his insides twist.

So he instructed Alfred to message him as soon as John was awake and then went to work, hoping to help Regina sort out as much of the mess as they could before then. He expected to hear something from the Agency – from Avesta, at the very least – but not a visit or a call was made. This made him feel simultaneously relieved and anxious; the latter mostly because he wanted to keep tabs on that damn virus. For the time being, though, he decided to focus on the substantial amount of cleanup ahead of him, as he needed a distraction as desperately as his company needed a return to order.

<><><> <><><>

The subtle alert of his phone that served as a reminder for him to eat when it was lunchtime startled him out of the logs he’d been looking over. How was it 1:00 already? He stood and stretched to the accompaniment of his cracking joints. No one could say Bruce Wayne doesn’t accomplish what he sets his focus to, he mused wryly. Then he frowned and looked through his messages; nothing new. What happened with Alfred? He sent his butler a quick text, asking if things were alright. After a few minutes of no response, he tried to call. When that proved fruitless, a tingle of panic deepened his frown and he began to pack up. He’d have lunch at home.

The deep quiet of the manor was no indication as to the state of things, he told himself. After all, the silence seemed to always linger in the recesses of each room regardless of the amount of life contained in it; Bruce had hosted enough social gatherings that crowded nearly every space of the building to understand that that was just the character of the house. It was one of the many reasons he had mixed feelings about the place he called home, and he wondered what John would take from it, as observant as he was. The rather fond thought reminded him of why he’d rushed through all those stoplights to get here. He started to make his way towards the stairs, but he stopped when he heard footsteps approaching.

Alfred turned a corner and a look of mild surprise briefly crossed his face. “Oh, Bruce. I wasn’t expecting you for lunch, else I would’ve had something prepared,” he said as he continued walking over to him. “Is everything alright?”

“That’s what I should be asking you,” Bruce said, relief at seeing that Alfred was well easing into him even though the earlier panic maintained a hold on his heart. His tone was understandably miffed as he went on, “What happened to your phone? I was trying to reach you.”

Alfred made the closest thing to a grimace as his dignity allowed. “I seemed to have misplaced it in the commotion of preparing John’s room. It will turn up, I’m sure; my sincerest apologies for worrying you.” As he spoke he took Bruce’s coat and briefcase. “You could’ve used the emergency line.”

Bruce sighed. “I wasn’t sure the situation called for it. Just glad everything’s okay here. At this point, the Agency’s my biggest concern; wouldn’t put anything past them, you know?” 

Alfred hummed his agreement. They were in the dining area now. “Will there be any special requests for lunch?”

Bruce shook his head and took the offered seat at the table. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the high back of the chair. “So is he awake?” 

“There was a time when I thought so, but he was merely talking in his sleep,” Alfred replied.

Bruce raised his brows at that. “Huh. …What kinds of things did he say?”

His butler frowned, looking uncomfortable at having to recall. “Well, to sum up, it’s obvious he’s most upset over the Agency’s betrayal, out of all the recent events. There were other things, though, things that I rather think are weighing heavily on his mind. He’s certainly a troubled man, Bruce…” He sighed. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider installing some form of…security measure, in his room?” 

He knew Alfred’s idea of a security measure wasn’t in the interest of protecting John. While Bruce completely understood – and appreciated – why his butler was concerned for his safety with John now residing in the manor, he needed to maintain that trust between the green-haired man and himself. It was fragile enough as it was, thanks in part to the double-crossing Bruce had been forced to take part in recently and John’s own abandonment issues. It was the latter of the two that made Bruce understand from the beginning, at Lucius’ funeral, that a measure of faith was always the best path when it came to John. He didn’t utilize a tracker then, and he certainly wouldn’t start using similar devices now.

“I’m pretty sure I trust him enough not to strangle me in my sleep, Alfred,” he said teasingly. “Besides, he’s hardly in a condition for any violence he may have in mind.” 

Alfred didn’t look amused. “From what you told me, he seems to be quite capable of performing strenuous acts under poor conditions.”

John leaving a heavy blood trail behind as he closed the distance between him and Waller. Bruce didn’t want to imagine what his friend’s expression might’ve looked like during those moments; he was afraid it would be something like insanity incarnate.

He shook his head. “Regardless. He’s one of the closest friends I’ve had, Alfred. I mean it when I say I trust him.” At least, he _would_ mean it once he sorted out just what happened in that funhouse. He hoped.

Bruce made short work of his lunch; he wanted to check on John before heading back out. His friend looked no better than he did at the hospital, he noticed with slight disappointment, other than that his black eye was almost completely faded away. Good riddance. He brought the chair from the desk over to the bedside and sat, unsure if he should try to rouse John or let him sleep some more. He wondered as to the quality of sleep John usually got, whether he was plagued by nightmares, or if he relied on medication to put him under. If he had just as hard a time as Bruce did in getting any rest. It would explain why John was taking longer than expected to wake up.

Bruce did his best in checking every piece of medical equipment that surrounded them, trying to decipher from their displays whether John was still alright. He was pretty sure they’d know via demanding beeping sounds if that wasn’t the case, but the act served to give him some sense of control over the situation. Seeing John like this made him feel helpless.

Giving his friend a final onceover, he decided to just let him sleep as much as he needed to and he’d check on him when he got back later. He’d just closed the door of the room behind him when those demanding beeping sounds he’d hoped he’d never hear went off on the other side. He burst back in to see John gasping for air and clawing at his chest, eyes still shut tight. The panic was clear in his movements. In a flash Bruce moved to firmly take hold of John’s wrists before he could disrupt the tube in his chest.

“John! Wake up, you’re alright, you’re okay. Hey.” He gave John’s wrists a gentle squeeze, hoping to anchor him. It helped; John settled, and for the first time in too long, he slowly, hesitantly opened his eyes. After a few disoriented blinks, his gaze focused on him.

A bright, familiar grin lit his face as he rasped, “Bruce!”

<><><> <><><>

Despite the exhaustion on his features, John seemed more curious than anything else regarding his near-death experience. For reasons Bruce didn’t want to understand, his friend was thrilled with the fact that his heart had stopped during the operation, a fact that Bruce himself had yet to get over. However, of all the reactions John could’ve had to what surely must’ve been a traumatic ordeal for him, Bruce supposed there were worse.

After recounting everything that’d happened since the bridge (and a final round of stern no-you-cannot-touch-that for every piece of medical equipment), John sighed – tried to, at least, until the pain cut it short – and said, “Wow…I guess we’re really even now.”

The statement caught Bruce off guard. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, not to give myself all the credit or anything, but, ah, I’d wager things could’ve gone much worse for you these past days if I hadn’t, you know…intervened, those times I did,” John said, smiling all the while. “And now I owe you _my_ life, buddy!” He clasped his hands together, obviously pleased with the ways things had panned out.

Bruce offered a small smile back. “John, you know friends don’t keep track of who did what for the other. We don’t owe each other anything. I’m just…really, really glad you’re okay.”

John seemed to mull over what he said before the smile returned. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. In any case, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough, Bruce. If you hadn’t been there when Waller shot me –” his voice suddenly sharpened with anger, the roughness from its disuse making it sound downright guttural “– if things had gone her way, I’d be just another sorry name crossed from the Agency’s list.” Clenched fists gripped the sheets about him; the idea had him positively radiating fury.

“Woah, it’s alright, John,” Bruce said quickly. “That’s not what happened – I know that’s what could’ve happened,” he amended with a look from his friend, “but it didn’t. You’re going to be fine, remember? Deep breaths.”

“A little hard to do now with a collapsed lung,” John muttered, but did seem calmed by Bruce’s words. He closed his eyes and relaxed his fists. “No, it didn’t happen – thanks to you, Bruce.” 

The look he gave him when he opened his eyes again was absolutely shining with reverence. Bruce had to look away, the gnawing guilt he’d pushed to the back of his mind since that heart-stopping moment on the bridge returning with a vengeance. He’d dealt with similar sensations of remorse many, many times throughout his nightly career, but he’d usually be able to convince himself (often rightfully so) that it wasn’t his fault, that whatever loss he couldn’t prevent was truly unpreventable and thinking otherwise would be unrealistic. This situation, however… 

He was right there. He was three feet from Waller’s gun and had full view of both her and John. It was just pure shock at the sight of her pulling a gun on an unarmed man who’d just saved half the city that kept Bruce still when he should’ve moved. Waller was fast, but he knew he could’ve been faster, and that was what prevented him from burying the horrible guilt. He’d come so very close to losing one more person in his life he deeply cared about; it would be some time yet before the thought didn’t make his stomach flip.

“Hey, buddy?”

He looked back over at John to see concern lining his features.

“Are – a-are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, too, did they?” The sincerity in his tone drew Bruce out of his distressing thoughts and he smiled, if only to rid his friend’s frown. As unsettling as some found John’s smile to be, Bruce found he much preferred it to the alternative expressions.

“No, I’m fine, John. Just tired, you know?”

John didn’t look convinced, one brow raised as he said, “Uh…huh. Okay. I guess as long as they didn’t go after you; otherwise I’d _really_ have a bone to pick with those – those… _pigs_.” He spat the last word like a curse. Bruce felt he should be worried about John’s newfound hatred for the Agency, but at this point he was more amused by it than anything else. It wasn’t as though that hatred was unfounded, in any case.

John made to put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but the amount of cords attached to his arm made the gesture awkward to carry out. John winced with discomfort and _tsk_ ed, but Bruce moved his seat closer and helped to disentangle the offending wires. His friend let out a little giggle – the first one he’d heard from him since the funhouse, and even those had stemmed from nerves – as he was finally able to make the familiar contact.

“Even if Waller sends the entire Agency after our tails, there’s no ruining this team!” he declared, grinning wide. “We’ll show her – not to mess with _us_! Won’t we, Bruce?”

Bruce smirked. “Just as soon as you’ve got fully functioning lungs again, sure.”

John began to laugh at that before it turned into a fit of painful coughing. He managed between gasps for air, “Ohhhh, yes, we’ll – _really_ – show her!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, just because that's how it worked itself out. I have zero idea where I'm going with this thing, but I think that's what I love about writing it, heh. Hope you guys enjoy!

It didn’t surprise Bruce in the least to find out that John was a shower singer. He almost expected it when he closed the bathroom door on his friend; what he didn’t expect were the types of songs in his repertoire. As he looked over the fresh set of clothes Alfred had picked out for John (needless to say the outfit he had worn on the day of the incident was unsalvageable), Bruce was in audience to Urie, Bublé, and about three-quarters of Winehouse, despite the extra effort singing must’ve taken John in his condition. The fact that the songs were only slightly offkey in John’s unique voice was even more surprising. 

The water had been off for a while. “Doing alright in there?” Bruce called.

“Ah – yeah! Just trying to…get around – ” A loud clank and a curse. “ – the thing. It, uh, i-it fell over. It’s okay, though, I got it!” John hurriedly assured, but Bruce was already at the door.

“Got a towel?” he warned.

“Y-yeah, but, you don’t have to – ”

Bruce opened the door and immediately went over to pick up the drainage unit that had fallen on its side. It was the same length and shape as an IV pole for transportation purposes, with the rectangular unit itself hooked to the bottom of it. Where the unit’s long tube entered John’s chest was currently covered with a plastic bag and taped so the dressing wouldn’t get wet, same as his graze wound. It was an awkward way to shower, Bruce knew. He offered his friend a sympathetic smile.

John chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and not meeting Bruce’s eyes. Bruce wasn’t sure if his obvious embarrassment came from needing help, or from being seen in nothing but a towel; either way, it was the last thing he wanted John to feel. Not around him.

He turned to grab some more towels from the bathroom closet, noticing John’s hair was still dripping. 

“You know, you’ve got some great taste in scents,” John remarked as he let the taller man rub his hair dry. “Like, really great! A weird blend of lavender and…” he brought his wrist to his nose and sniffed, “…coffee? Huh. Whatever it is, I like it. Is this what all CEOs smell like?” He giggled.

Bruce smirked at that, and he tried to keep it from widening any further when he finished drying his friend’s hair; it had formed into a twisted halo of dark spikes, some flopping over John’s forehead. John ran his hands through it to slick it back, grinning.

“Hey, thanks for that, buddy!”

His excitement over the soft cotton shirt and pants Bruce presented him with rivaled that of a child on Christmas. When Bruce told him they were just an old set of his until they could buy John some in his proper size, he was even more thrilled, saying some of that ‘ol’ Wayne charm’ might rub off on him if he wore them.

Once Bruce had established when John wanted to shower during the day, he had scheduled the nurses to visit just after that time so they were able to apply clean dressing. Bruce oversaw their work as one changed John’s dressing while the other checked the status of the equipment, jotting down their displays. They asked John questions over how he felt, if there were any changes or anything he was concerned about. John for the most part responded politely, his only concern being the length of time he had to wait before he was allowed to drink frappes again.

After twenty minutes, they left; rather in a rush, Bruce couldn’t help but notice as they passed him down the hall with only a brief greeting. He chalked it up to the nature of their profession and continued on back to John’s room with the extra pillow he’d went out to get. He was thrown off guard when he walked in to see his friend, shirtless in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. 

Bruce watched as John gingerly ran his fingers across the bandaging plastered on his side, the one that covered his graze wound, wincing slightly as he did so. There was a distant look on his face, almost as though he was trying to draw up memories. Then he caught Bruce’s reflection and slightly turned his head to the side, eyes still on the mirror.

“It’s funny,” he murmured, not a trace of laughter in his voice. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

Bruce didn’t like such solemnity in his friend, but he knew this conversation had been looming over them for too long now. He stepped towards him, about to speak, but John continued.

“I wonder which direction your thoughts went, when you saw they’d shot at me.” His tone was thoughtful, free of accusation. And yet. Bruce moved closer, hoping to get John to turn and face him, so the sincerity in his eyes could be seen as he spoke.

“I told you I believed you. Seeing you’d been hit just proved what you’d said.”

“Oh, Bruce, it’s okay.” John finally turned around with the smallest of smiles. “I-I know, how it goes. You’re as good as a detective, there’s no way you could ever fully, truly, believe a story like the one I gave you, when there’s not a shred of proof to support it. And don’t –” he held up a finger “– don’t say my being shot counts as proof, because we both know…it really doesn’t mean a thing.”

“John –”

“Am I wrong?” A dare. 

Bruce didn’t want to lie anymore. He also didn’t want the truth between them, afraid of what it would do to everything they’d built. It didn’t matter what he wanted anymore, though; John had plucked the truth, the ever-lingering doubt, right out of Bruce’s darkest thoughts and was now dangling it in front of him with grim certainty.

Bruce sighed. “Look, John. If I hadn’t trusted you enough to let you help bring Harley in, things would’ve gone much differently. If I really thought you killed those agents in cold blood you’d be right back in Arkham right now.” 

The effect the name of that hellhole had on John was unmistakable; his jaw went slack, and the look he gave Bruce was haunted. Bruce placed a hand on John’s bare shoulder, frowning internally at how bony it felt beneath his grip. 

“But you’re with me. In my house,” he reminded him in a tone he hoped was soothing. “Do you honestly think that’d be the case if I didn’t trust you?”

John lowered his gaze. “Y-You’re right, buddy, and I knew that, I-I just…” He exhaled deeply, causing a coughing fit to overtake him. When it passed, his voice was considerably rougher, adding weight to his next words. “…Sometimes I worry it’s not enough. You know? It doesn’t matter why I killed those guys, the fact that I killed them is enough to stick in your brain, and just eat away at the thread.”

“You think I haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before? I know you’re only human, we all are, any one of us has the capability of snapping under pressure. I’m not going to base our entire friendship on what you did under such circumstances,” Bruce told him vehemently. If he was lucky he’d convince both John and the small part of himself that refused to let go of the doubt. John looked up at him with soft grief in his eyes.

“Maybe you wouldn’t…but what about Bats?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“Everyone knows…everyone knows Batman doesn’t condone, that sort of thing…” A beat. “…no exceptions. Even if it were to cost him a little bit of himself…no exceptions.”

He supposed he should’ve known John would remember those words. He looked away, feeling the tension in his friend’s shoulder tighten even further. 

_There’s a first for everything_ , he wanted to tell him. Instead he huffed, gave him a sideways glance, and smiled. “You know, sometimes that guy really gets on my nerves.”

Something like hope flickered in John’s expression as he laughed tentatively. “As amazing as he is…well, yeah,” he said unsteadily, nodding. He wrapped his arms about himself, and the movement drew Bruce’s eyes to John’s torso; he was startled at the number of scars of all sizes that interrupted the otherwise smooth expanse of pale skin, and his arms were just as marked. There weren’t nearly as many as Bruce himself possessed, but much more than what he ever expected of his friend, for certain. 

He went to grab John’s shirt where it lay on the bed. He then helped to dress him; he knew from experience this type of injury made the everyday task a difficult one to perform without considerable pain. John thanked him before moving to sit on the bed, holding himself gingerly. Bruce wanted to continue talking, now with fresh questions added to the stockpile (one that began rapidly accumulating the first time he ever saw the green-haired man, with too few answers in comparison), but he could tell John had been drained by their brief yet tense exchange.

So instead he went to sit beside him and gently put an arm across his shoulders. “Look, I have an idea. The nurses just gave you your meds, so why don’t you rest for a bit, and when you’re feeling up to it I’ll show you around the place,” he offered. More than anything, Bruce wanted John to feel comfortable here. “In the meantime, I can go get your things from, uh…where you used to live.” Bruce had the sudden realization that he’d never asked John if he wanted to live in the manor with him. He’d just assumed that he wouldn’t want to go back to living in an old abandoned subway station with only the memories of his former love interest to keep him company. 

John blinked and began to glance about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Ohhh…that’s right! I’m actually in THE Wayne Manor! I dunno why, it didn’t occur to me before you mentioned it – well, I do know why, actually, hopped up on medication and all that, but! But how exciting, Bruce!” He clasped his hands together with a grin. “I would definitely like to take you up on that offer.” 

Bruce gave him a nod before standing to move to the door. “I’ll come check on you in a few hours, then,” he said.

“B-Bruce, wait!” John halted him just before he left, carefully getting to his feet. When Bruce turned to him, there was earnest desperation in his friend’s eyes. “Um…I just, I just wanted you to know that, I really do appreciate the trust that we have. E-Even if it’s not at the level either us want it to be, what’s there is…more than enough, for now. So…” He seemed to search for words, then, his hands waving about before he settled, saying with heartfelt sincerity, “… _thank you_ , Bruce. Really.”

There was no hesitation in Bruce, then. He took two purposeful steps towards John and, ignoring the man’s instinctive flinch, engulfed him in a full body hug that was just light enough not to cause him pain. There was a moment where John was genuinely taken aback, stiff under his hold, but then he eagerly returned the gesture, wrapping his arms about Bruce’s middle. Bruce was able to tuck the green-haired head beneath his chin as John relaxed and rested his head on Bruce’s chest, as he had the last time they’d hugged. 

Except now, there was no immediate stress keeping Bruce from properly sharing this moment with his friend, nothing to keep him from conveying to John just how much he had come to mean to him. Because despite everything, all the physical and emotional pain he’d undergone in the recent days trying to take down the Pact…despite using John in that process…if it meant he wouldn’t have gotten out with John by his side, he wouldn’t have done it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really curious to know which songs you guys think John would've sung! Also, I had bought a lavender/espresso scented hand lotion on the day I started writing this fic, so now I weirdly associate that scent with my favorite bois, lol. Thanks so much for reading; till next chapter! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert excuses for taking so long to update here* 
> 
> ...oh look, the beginnings of an attempt at actual plot!

Bruce was hoping that, by now, the Pact’s headquarters would be a little less…crowded. A block away from the entrance point, however, it became clear this wasn’t the case. Patrols of agents milled about, and while they weren’t on the alert, it would still be difficult getting past them all. He considered just forgetting the whole excursion and buying John anything he was missing (and really anything else he wanted), but then he remembered the one time he’d visited John’s home away from home, and the wall of photographs that was the focal point of the entire little space. If nothing else, he knew those were what really mattered to John, and he’d be damned if he let the Agency keep him from retrieving what little possessions John cared for.

If it’d been the GCPD, there would hardly be an issue; a few words with Gordon, and he’d be in. The police had probably been in and out within the first couple of days since the incident, though, and the Agency had picked up whatever was left of their investigation. Bruce honestly couldn’t think of a valid reason for there to be this many agents at the scene when the case was pretty much closed, with Freeze gone and Harley and Bane in their custody. The Agency even had the virus (another issue to deal with entirely), so why had Waller assigned such a heavy patrol force to an area that was practically worthless to her now?

He didn’t want to believe it was all to catch John. Not only because it made unease crawl though him like a thousand little insects, but it also just didn’t make sense. Even if John had been a part of the Pact, surely she didn’t perceive him as that much of a threat to spend so many resources on assuring his detainment. 

Whatever the reason, the fact of the matter was that Bruce didn’t quite know where he stood with Waller and the Agency after everything that’d happened, and he’d like to avoid the inevitable questioning until he was fully prepared. For now he just wanted to collect his friend’s belongings and go home. 

<><><> <><><>

By the time he made it inside the subway, it was a little over nightfall. There had been a lot of moments where there was nothing to be done but wait for heads to turn, and subtle distractions could only do so much, especially with the amount of socializing the bored agents had been doing. He was relieved to find the actual subway itself empty; no one had seen the need to guard the inside when there was such heavy guard outside. So Bruce was free to walk the area he had experienced so many tense moments in, noticing whatever technology the Pact had in their possession was gone, hopefully back to their rightful owners. He made his way over to the brightly decorated Ha-Ha-Hacienda. The strings of lights that’d been draped about it had all gone out. 

As he wondered whether to bring those back among John’s other things, the slightest rustle behind him made him spin round, tensed for anything.

“Bruce?” Avesta had just come out from the area Freeze used to work in. Her expression was bemused, but not wholly upset. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bruce relaxed a bit and took a few steps towards her. “I had some unfinished business I wanted to clear up.”

“Mm. I’m guessing it was a little tough getting in here; must be some pretty important unfinished business you’re after.” The question in her words was obvious.

“Not as important as the status of the virus,” he countered pointedly. He was anxious to be caught up to speed on that point, but he also would rather not have her finding out the exact purpose of his presence there. He trusted her enough, but her position in the Agency made him hesitate to confide in her anything that had to do with John. 

She sighed and nodded. “Of course.” She motioned towards what used to be Harley’s office, saying, “Shall we? There’s quite a bit I feel you should know.” 

Bruce followed her in.

<><><> <><><>

As tired as he was (understandably so, it being two in the morning), he wanted to peek in on John to make sure he was sleeping okay. Alfred had told him he’d seen to giving John the pain medications prescribed and that he’d dropped off quickly after; Bruce thanked him again for helping with John’s recovery despite any misgivings the butler maintained. He really didn’t know what he’d do without Alfred.

Sure enough, John was still and quiet in bed, laying with his back to the door. Moonlight filtering through the spaces between the curtains highlighted the green of his hair, now messy and uneven. Bruce began to silently close the door again.

“Bruce?” 

Bruce paused, frowning. Pushing the door open all the way, he said gently, “I thought you were asleep.”

John turned at the sound of his voice and, seeing him, began to sit up slowly. “Well, I was, but… I-I was worried, since it’d been so long since you’d left.” He winced when something in him twinged but managed to prop himself on his elbows. His eyes gleamed in the light of the hallway as he looked up at Bruce with concern. “What happened?”

Bruce pursed his lips as he stepped into the room. “Nothing really, it was just harder to reach the subway than I expected; I’ll tell you more in the morning. I’m sorry I worried you,” he said, moving to the bedside to fix John’s tangled blankets. “You should try and go back to sleep.”

“I’m not a child, Bruce,” his friend said as he rubbed his eyes, “you can tell me now. I won’t be able to sleep, anyway, if I don’t know what’s going on. And there is something going on, I can see it on that face of yours.” He sat up a little straighter before scooching to the other side of the bed. He then patted the space he’d created, smiling invitingly.

Bruce couldn’t help a chuckle at that. He hadn’t wanted to worry John with the information Avesta had given him at the subway, at least not yet, and he was just so tired now…but he didn’t want to outright deny John when he was just as involved in the matter as Bruce was. So he sat on the edge of the bed, and when John eagerly fixed the pillows so that they could both be comfortable, he went ahead and laid down, propped against the headboard. 

“Okay,” he sighed, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good!”

“Well, the virus has been destroyed. You remember Agent Avesta?”

John nodded.

“She was able to take care of it before Waller could get her hands on it. I can’t say for certain that Waller would’ve misused it if she had, but I think we can both agree that something that dangerous shouldn’t be in anyone’s possession.”

“Yes, exactly! That’s exactly what I thought! Especially not someone who’s willing to kill for it! Or at least, attempt to kill,” John amended, lightly placing a hand over the spot where the bullet had entered his chest. His expression was bitter, before it brightened a bit with his next words. “That is good news, then. So…what’s the bad?”

Bruce suppressed a grimace. He _really_ wished he could put this off till…well, until a time when it wouldn’t matter. As things were, though, such a time would be quite a ways off. John picked up on his unease.

“That bad, huh? It wouldn’t have anything to do with…Waller, wanting to bring me in, would it?” he said quietly.

Bruce pursed his lips. Distress flashed in John’s lowered eyes for a moment, but before Bruce could say something reassuring, his friend suddenly smiled up at him.

“Well, I say, let her try! I’m not scared of her; how can I be, when I’ve got the greatest hero in all Gotham to protect me?” He spread his hands towards Bruce as he took on that adoring look in his eyes. Bruce could practically feel the marble of the pedestal John had so reverently placed him on.

He couldn’t deny the sensation of pride and overall happiness that swept through him with every reminder of his friend’s staggering admiration for him. He was aware that it was the nature of his role to garner such respect from Gotham’s citizens, but perhaps because of the bond he shared with John, it made it all the more special coming from him. To say his absolute confidence in Bruce’s abilities was flattering would be an even bigger understatement than saying Bruce had a certain dislike for the Director of the Agency.

Which certainly made introducing the rotten cherry on the top even harder than it should’ve been. “Yeah, of course, John, but – I feel like you should know – she’s put together a…special task force. For the job.”

John kept grinning. Bruce sighed.

“And, ah…it’s headed by…Harley.”

It always amazed him how quickly John’s expressions were able to shift from one extreme to the other. The grin had soured into a grimace as his bright eyes narrowed darkly.

“What?! That’s…! She can’t do that! Can she…?” He shook his head. “No! She was arrested, she…she can’t be allowed to just run around, free to hunt me with that giant mallet of hers! No!” 

“Hey, I know, but –”

“Do you have any idea what she’ll do to me when she finds me?” John practically whimpered, his face shifted again into one of terror. “Forget bringing me in for Waller; I’ll be as good as tomato paste by the time the Agency comes to collect me! They’ll have to scrape me off the pavement, and – and –” He was on the verge of hyperventilating, breaths raspy and short. Bruce grabbed his shoulders and squeezed just enough to ground him. The last thing he needed was a panic attack.

“Listen to me, John, listen. I need you to calm down. John?” His gaze bore into the other man’s eyes until his friend was forced to stare back. “That will never happen. Never. That psychopath won’t get within fifty feet of you, no matter how hard she tries. I swear it,” he declared in a low tone. “I’ll keep you safe from Harley just as I will from Waller.”

John released a shaky breath as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “T-Thanks, buddy…I just get so, so worked up, thinking about her and – and the hatred she must have for me…” He chuckled grimly. “I know I’d reeeeally hate her, if, if our roles were reversed…”

Bruce nodded slowly. “So, you don’t hate her now?”

A small smile. “You know, I feel like I probably should, after all the crap she put me through. But no…I don’t. Not really. I certainly don’t _love_ her like I used to,” he said quickly, “the thought of her does not get my heart racing like it did before all that virus mess – well, I mean, it does, but in a fear-induced panicky sort of way. Thing is, I just can’t bring myself to hate her.” He sighed, coughing a bit, before a thought seemed to cross his mind. “…Is that bad?”

Bruce shrugged. “Really as long as you don’t put your trust in her again, it doesn’t matter how you feel about her. Do you… You don’t regret betraying her, do you?” It was a question that had rooted itself in the back of his mind ever since John had been rewarded for his feat of heroism with an all-too-near death experience. As much as it would hurt to hear (and cause many more problems than they already had), Bruce knew he would hardly be able to blame his friend if he did regret trading the woman he loved for a city that hadn’t exactly done him any favors.

John’s gaze traced the edges of his sleeves as he thought. It was a relief when, after only a few seconds, he snorted and said, “Nah.” His smile returned, a good-natured glint in his eyes. “It’s what the good guy would’ve done. What you would’ve done, Bruce. You’re my role model, remember?”

“And…if I wasn’t?”

John’s face fell a bit. “If you weren’t…well, knowing me, I probably would’ve been the one to detonate the bombs myself,” he said smugly. “How much fun would that have been, huh?” The light in his eyes was fervent as his laugh escalated into one of pure glee.

Bruce swallowed at the thought. He really needed to find a way to curb that desire for wanton destruction that clearly ran through his friend like the blood in his veins. 

At Bruce’s obvious discomfort, John cut his laughter short by clearing his throat. His expression became beseeching as he quickly said, “B-But that’s why I need you, Bruce. Before you and I became close, I considered Harley – Harley! – to be my light, the one I could always look for and count on, outside of Arkham. But now I know, that she’s just as chaotic and unbalanced as the rest – she’s completely untrustworthy. And I’ve told you, how I feel about trust. You get it.”

Bruce nodded.

“I’ve always admired you, Bruce, but since we’ve actually gotten to form this friendship between us, I’ve realized you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for in the chaos. When it starts to creep inside me, dig the worst out of me and make me feel like someone else entirely, someone that _is_ capable of murder…when that happens, what better light to follow, than the Bat-Signal itself?” he giggled. 

The weight of responsibility John’s words infused in Bruce was staggering. He had felt it, before, when he’d started noticing just how much the man trusted him with little reason to, but now hearing John spell it out so clearly – realizing the immense worth and influence he had in John’s life… Bruce couldn’t be more relieved. He knew he was capable of instilling in John that self-control and sense of right and wrong that the man was sorely lacking. He knew that, if they could maintain that trust between them, the deep-seated rage and violent streak Bruce sensed in his friend might even be resolved. 

They would have to get past the hurdles Waller had thrown their way first, though.

As they continued to talk – Bruce recounting all the items he’d gathered from John’s old place, John explaining his favorite card trick using a deck Alfred had given him while Bruce was out – the night slipped by. Neither of them remembered falling asleep; let alone with John’s head on Bruce’s shoulder and the smallest of smiles on Bruce’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest fear is getting OOC with these guys, really hoping to stay true to the characters Telltale gave us that we know and love, while at the same time creating fluffy moments that are still relatively within the realm of possible...all while deadlines and finals are flying at me at the speed of sound so that I only get a chance to write when I should be sleeping... Ah, the crazy things love makes us do. -_-
> 
> So I can't say when I'll be able to update next, just that I'll be chipping away at the next chapter every chance I get till it's ready. As always, thanks so much for reading and I sincerely hope you're enjoying this little ride as much as I am. :)


End file.
